Broken Angel
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: "You were his daughter, Ziva. A part of him loved you." She met his gaze, tears in her eyes. "No he did not, Tim. I may have been his daughter, but I was a mistake. That is all I was to him." Can be seen as part of my No Strings Attached Universe.


**Broken Angel **

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Summary: "You were his daughter, Ziva. A part of him loved you." She met his gaze, tears in her eyes. "No he did not, Tim. I may have been his daughter, but I was a mistake. That is all I was to him." Can be seen as part of my _No Strings Attached_ Universe.**

She didn't even notice the cold anymore.

She'd been sitting out on the fire escape for two hours, lost in thought. His voice still rang in her ears, accusing and disappointed. Once again, she'd succeeded in failing her father, in becoming weak. In letting this country- this barbaric country- destroy her and turn her soft. He had shown up, wanting to make amends, wanting a second chance to repair the damage he'd done, saying that he'd changed.

Except, he hadn't. Not really, and it was time for her to realize it.

And she had.

She looked down, lifting her hands from her lap; she was shaking, her palms, her fingers, coated in blood, thick and red.

His.

It was his blood on her hands.

It was his blood running through her veins.

It was _his_ name she carried, not the name of the man she loved.

As thunder rumbled overhead, and rain began to pour down, catching her in the cloudburst, she watched, as the blood began to drip from her fingers. It hit the steele beneath her, pinging softly. She sniffled, soon unable to distinguish between her tears and the rain. Behind her, in the apartment, she could hear his footsteps, his voice, but ignored him. Swallowing, she took a deep breath, unable to think clearly as she watched the blood drip from her hands.

"I tried, _Abba_. I tried to be what you wanted me to be. I did my best... but it was never good enough for you..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Was I a mistake, _Abba_? Did you want me at all?"

_"Ziva."_

His voice entered her head, disappointed and accusatory. _"How could you tell me that you have had a child? Not that you are_ expecting_ a child, that you have_ had _a child._ _And with your coworker, no less. How could you, Ziva? When I sent you to America, you were to do a job and return home. Not stay in that barbaric country and become one of them. I raised you to not turn you back on your country! Your loyalty is not to them, it is to me! And only me! And you deliberately disobeyed me!"_

She choked on a sob, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks, hitting the blood on her hands. All she had ever done, was try to impress him, to make him see her as something more than a killer- as his child, his daughter. And it had backfired. He had been right. She'd turned her back on her country, on her family; her loyalty, her trust, had shifted, making her weak and vulnerable to any fancy line thrown her way.

_"Ziva!"_

The rain continued to pound, soaking her to the skin, but she stayed on the fire escape, flashes of the last four hours racing through her mind at lightning speed. The lunch date with her father at the apartment, the arguement, slamming the door in his face after ordering him out of her life forever. Hearing the scuffle on the stairs, stepping out and finding her father dieing on the stairs at the landing a floor below, a knife in his chest. Screaming for the police to be called and rushing down to fall at his side. _Knowing_, as a federal agent, to leave the knife in, but thinking only as his daughter, and grabbing the handle, yanking it from his chest. Pressing her hands to the wound, demanding he stay with her as her hands became soaked in his blood, as he took his last breath on the stair, crumbling into her arms. Not acknowledging as a hand was laid on her shoulder, barely focusing as she screamed for him, as police and others appeared on the stairs above and below, watching as the daughter of the Deputy Director of Mossad cradled her father, the last surviving remanent of her past dieing in her arms.

He had died because of her, because she'd been too stubborn, too set in her ways, in her new life, to look back and realize that where she belonged wasn't in America, but back in Israel. A relationship, a family, a child- none of that mattered; what mattered was that she was Mossad, she had been practically since she was born. He had been right. She didn't belong here. She had never belonged here.

_This is your fault. If you had given up this silly notion of being American, of dressing and acting and thinking like an American, of dating and sleeping with an American, of this 'American Dream', then none of this would have happened. If you hadn't had that man's child, if you hadn't been so desperate to have a family- something you never should have even considered- then your father would still be alive. _You_ are to blame._

She had always been to blame. She had always taken the blame, for everything. From her parents' marriage falling apart, to Tali's death... everything was always her fault. She had accepted it long ago. But now...

_You're a grown up, you have a child, are you to blame for that as well? _She choked on a sob. _Yes. _

Footsteps got closer. She closed her eyes, letting out a strangled sob. _"Ziva!"_ Slowly, she turned, to see Tim leaning out the window, reaching for her. A moment passed, before she shook her head and turned back to her self-loathing. All she wanted was for him to leave her alone. Leave her alone so she could get up the courage to drop from the fire escape and bash her brains on the pavement below. But he didn't. "Ziva, honey, come on! Come inside, you're going to get sick!" She ignored him. He climbed onto the fire escape, sitting beside her. "Ziver, honey, come inside." She took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"_I_ am the reason he is dead, Tim. _I_ am the reason my father is gone. _I_ am to blame for his death." She choked on her tears, and he gathered her to his chest, pressing a kiss to her head.

"No you aren't, Ziva. How could you possibly think that you are the reason, sweetheart?" She shook her head, pulling away. Tim met her gaze. "You were his _daughter_, Ziva. A part of him loved you."

She met his gaze, tears in her eyes, the truth clearer than the lies her lover was spinning. "No he did not, Tim. I may have been his daughter, but I was a _mistake_. That is _all_ I was to him." She burst into tears then, curling into his arms and burying her face in his chest.

They sat on the fire escape for several minutes, before Tim pulled her back into the apartment. He had taken her into the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet, quickly washing her hands and then moving on to cleaning her up the rest of the way, stripping off her soaked clothing and wringing it out. She seemed to be in shock, and after a moment, she looked up at him. "I am to blame, Tim."

Dropping her blouse into the sink, he knelt before her, reaching up and taking her face in his hands. "Sweetheart, you're not. Okay? You are not blame, for any of this. You are not the reason he was killed, you are not to blame for his death, okay? You are _not_ to blame. I wish you could see that. You are not to blame for anything. Eli made his own decisions. He chose his actions and had to live with the consequences._ Eli_ is the one to blame, not you."

A moment passed, as he worked on her hands, before she blinked, seeing through him. "Seeing him tonight..." She swallowed; Tim met her eyes, but she stared through him, through the bathroom door, the apartment walls, seeing nothing and no one, just the pain of the last few hours, the last few years. She took a deep, shaky breath, tears slipping from her eyes. "Seeing him... just brought me back, to when I was young..." She licked her lips, tasting the salt of her own tears. They dripped off her chin and spotted their hands; Tim held her hands loosely in his grasp, letting her talk. "how my father could be..." She gasped softly. "there was... always..." She took a deep, gasping breath, unable to speak for a moment. "always something more important, you know? I..." Her lower lip quivered, and she squeezed his hands. "I was always... _left..."_

Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, and Tim reached up, catching her tears, before pulling her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. "Oh Ziver..." He gathered her once more to his chest, pressing a kiss to her head, as she struggled to keep from breaking down. "My strong girl; you have to believe that you are _not to blame_ for any of this."

Without caring that she was still soaked to the skin, he stood, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to their bedroom. He helped her into her pajamas and then climbed into bed with her, pulling her close, as she clung to him, shivering._ "Tim..."_

"I know, Ziver. There's only so much strength you can hide behind before it starts to crumble. I know the feeling." He whispered, his thoughts going back to his own broken relationship with his father. In some strange way, he and Ziva were cut from the same cloth. Broken, damaged, thanks to the men who were supposed to have loved and raised and protected them.

He swallowed, thinking of their own daughter, seeing the innocence in her eyes, her smile, as she reached out and grasped his finger or lay on her back on her blanket and grabbed her toes. Innocence, beautiful, childhood innocence. Ziva had been just as innocent as their daughter, with her dimpled smile and bright eyes, and to see her so broken and damaged now as an adult...

Eli had left her alone, leaving her to suffer the consequences of his own selfish actions, turning her cold and heartless, shaping her into a trained assassin, a killer, who had never known love until she came to America, until she joined NCIS, and they became friends. And suddenly, Tim had watched her open up, watched her change, watched her discover a part of herself she thought long dead. And when their daughter had been conceived and born, she had discovered what true, real love was. What real parental love was. And it was _nothing_ like what she'd grown up with.

It was warm, protective, loving.

Everything her father wasn't.

_You were his daughter. A part of him loved you._

But it wasn't true. It had never been true. Eli had never loved her, never loved Ari, or Tali. He didn't know what love was. Tim... Tim knew what love was, and he showed it every day. He showed his family that they were the most important things in the world to him, and never missed an opportunity to whisper it to her, or tell her how important she was to him. Yes, Tim knew what love was. And he'd taught her how to love.

She glanced down at her hands as she pulled away, sniffling. No longer coated in her father's blood, they were small, soft, supple. Smooth. Though they wore no rings, they were married in every sense of the word, from the moment of their daughter's conception. He brought her small hands to his lips, pressing kisses to her palms before pulling her close. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering softly to her as she snuggled into his body.

_"You have my blood in your veins, Ziva! You belong to me, to us! To Israel! And you will return to Israel! You will leave this foolish notion of family and love behind and come back to me! Because you are mine! Not his, _mine_!"_ She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in his chest._ "You carry_ my _name, not his! Therefore, you belong to me! And_ only_ me!"_

She choked on a sob, wrapping her arms tight around Tim's body, sobbing into his chest as the rain continued to pound at their window. Tim held her close, pressing firm kisses to her head as he whispered softly to her. "It's not your fault, Ziver. It was never your fault. I promise." She clung to him, finding her salvation in his strong arms. "I promise, Ziva. It was never your fault."


End file.
